Impressions
by naden
Summary: Marcus/Eska only movie!verse impression drabbles. How the hatred evolves into friendship and friendship into love.
1. Marcus

**Hi! Firstly, I'm veeerryyy sorry, that I haven't put the chapters for other stories online yet - I'm currently working on the bigger project as a job and I just try to save bits and pices of my free time and put it together. **

**As I saw The Eagle I knew I would have to sacrifice some of that time. Not much, as you see - every chapter is a short drabble from Marcus' or Eska's point of view - telling the movie!verse story and dicovering more to it.  
**

**I'm nor a history specialist neither a native english speaker, so I could have made my mistakes - I apologize for that.  
**

**Anyway, the original story and characters belong to the author of the book and creators of the film. I haven't read 'The Eagle of the Ninth', so I won't be refering to the book!verse situations. The characters story will be based on what I've seen in Kevin Macdonald production + my own imagination.  
**

**Enjoy! C:  
**

* * *

The slave has just dropped his weapon.

'There's bravery.' He hears his uncle say. 'He's going to give himself his death.'

An honourable death. That's what every man wants, every soldier. A violent, sharp death at the end of a sword. For Rome, for honour.

But what's honourable here, Marcus thinks, at the filthy arena, when you're a savage. Even more – a slave, stripped from honour by the very meaning of this therm.

He frowns at the sudden bolt of pain coming through his wound. He clenches his teeth, expecting it to lighten even if just a little bit. But it never does. Pain has become his one and only true friend – always by his side. It is the sight of the fight that lets Marcus forget for a while, cut off the reality and lock himself up along with the memories.

Simple soldier life. Good times.

The slave is persistent in his silent protest. But after another blow he barely tries to stand up. Fresh blood drops from the corner of his mouth and Marcus can almost feel its taste on his own tongue. Young, stubborn thing. Unhealed bruises and cuts all over his body tell the rest of the story. The gladiator beats him down one last time. Spread on the ground, at the mercy of the crowd. He's thin like a straw but still fit and strong. He could have a whole life ahead. Accomplish everything.

Marcus slowly stands up, his body weak, shaking from the pain and fever.

'Life.' He cries. ' Life!'

The slave's chest goes up and down with every quick, shallow gasp for the air. Breathe in. Breathe out. His gaze slides over the tribunes. One thumb up. Two. Five.

'Come on, get your thumbs up! Come on, you fools!' Marcus doesn't let go. He looks at the savage and their eyes meet. There's something hard and cold there, something that makes the soldier hesitate for a fraction of a second. But there are already ten thumbs. Seventeen. He loses count.

The tip of the blade slowly rises. Crowd has decided to show mercy this time.

* * *

**Thank you for your attention - revievs and comments = LOVE.**


	2. Esca

**I've written the second chapter the same night - I just couldn't stop. C:**

******DISCLAIMER: the original story and characters belong to the author of the book and creators of the film. I haven't read 'The Eagle of the Ninth', so I won't be refering to the book!verse situations. The characters story will be based on what I've seen in Kevin Macdonald production + my own imagination.**

******Enjoy!  
**

* * *

His saviour is a cripple.

And he didn't even let the slightest cry for mercy. Begging would mean selling his honour at the lowest price. What else is there left for a man with no family, no tribe, no possessions and no freedom? The last thing to clung onto is honour and some memories.

But no reminiscence, not even the brightest one can light the way among the Romans. They spread like parasites, with their foreign tongue, culture and gods, claiming what never belonged to them.

The very ground under his feet was walked by free and proud men of the North. Oh, they're still here. In chains, slaughtered like animals for the joy of the crowd.

Some men played along, fighting with gladiators, hoping for a luck. Esca would not have that. He did not owe them anything, he needn't obey the rules. He made his own by tossing the weapon away and he would hold on to it even a the cost of his own life.

The son of the Brigantes spits on the other's mercy.

Yet the crippled Roman decided to give it to him anyway.

Was it pity? Some kind of sentiment? Maybe just a twisted lust? Esca's seen those wealthy Roman cockroaches picking the most delicate, prettiest boys and girls at the slave market.

But this one just looks at him for a while and when everything is over, slowly gets up, assisted by two man, and leaves with the others. Weak and pitiful – that's what his saviour is like.

Arena gradually becomes empty. Esca just stands in the middle, feeling the growing hatred and a burning need to pay his debt.

* * *

**Feel free to drop me a line to tell me what you think!**


End file.
